Morgan

An ancient old man, whose seen his fair share of bar fights. Still vigourous despite his age, he knows the tales and legends of the surronding area almost as well as he knows the chipped steins of his inn.

Special Equipment:

A chain mail money purse, for change. Keeps cut-purses away, he says. Doubles as a nice sap to knock out ruffians.

Appearance:

Decades of living in an unforgiving climate have left him strong and healthy. He has only a couple of people working for him and he pulls more than his share of labor. Cutting wood and a little light smithing have kept him as fit as a man less than half his age. Close cropped grey hair, hands scarred from use, misalinged nose from one to many breaks.

Background:

Morgan came to work for his uncle when his parents passed away from an illness. His uncle foster raised him and put him to work at his inn. Eventually his uncle grew old and died after Morgan had been working for him for over fifteen years. His uncle left Morgan his inn in his will so Morgan renamed it Uncle’s Inn, in his memory.
He has a very small forge near the stables, but it’s usually not lit, he only uses it to help shoe horses and fix odds and ends around the inn. He is a competent blacksmith, but not an armourer or a weapon smith.
The wagon trail his inn sits on carries a good bit of trade, so Morgan is usually up to speed on the latest trail news. He’s not a person that will pry, but his ears are sharp and he knows how not to act interested in what a person says after a few drinks.

Roleplaying Notes:

He has a good supply of alcohol on hand, to suit the various tastes of the people the wagon trail brings in. He even has a couple bottles of the rarer stuff, elven wine and such in the back room, but anyone who orders it better look like a noble or it’s cash up front.
He doesn’t mind people getting drunk in his places, just as long as they can keep it down and don’t get to rowdy. If a party is armed, he tends to offer to check their weapons or cut them off it he thinks they’re beginning to take leave of their senses. They can either stop drinking or pick up thier weapons when they sober up.

He keeps a bit of a close eye on dwarves. He’s seen a great many of them drink more than they can hold. He might ask them to leave if he thinks they’re going to lose thier lunch or start headbutting groins.

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BBQ World?

"The world has an immovable dark red sun in the centre of the sky that produces very little light. The heat is totally unbearable and the aroma of delicious cooking meat is in the air. To look around it appears as though you are surrounded by giant black mountains with no vegetation anywhere. The ground is soft and an oily liquid flows into your footprints. Travelling reveals nothing else."

Any character without some resistance to fire or heat is slowly being cooked. The ground if you haven't guessed it is the cooked meat.

I've wanted this world to be part of a dimensional hopping "chase". I thought maybe to populate this world with giant carnivorous beetles or perhaps this could be a "Nirvana" for deceased or living (but dimension travelling) fire dragons.

Perhaps I've just been grilling a little too much meat or perhaps there are some great ideas out there on how to spruce up the place. Any suggestions?